


the greatest despair of them all

by BlackCats



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Incest, Mostly Pre-Canon, Unhealthy Relationships, Various Canon Points, spoilers?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCats/pseuds/BlackCats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junko, Mukuro, and the despair that they share. A collection of despaircest short stories all dedicated to a dear friend of mine!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Princess Carys](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Princess+Carys).



> Dedicated to my dear friend Carys--"Jvnko" on Tumblr--with much love~!
> 
> Many of these fic prompts will come/have come from our friend Kali and I thank her as well! I hope you both enjoy!
> 
> My apologies to everyone for any canon slip-ups and OOCness but may you enjoy it regardless.

She was actually  _leaving_.

_Leaving!_

Junko had heard her talk about it for months. She had listened to every hesitant syllable from her wolf of a sister, every careful murmur that carried a shiver of uneasiness in the beat of every word. She had intended to leave, intended to do this and that, for various reasons.

Oh, but the  _hesitation_ had been delicious! As if she feared her sister’s refusal, as if she  _despaired_ at the thought of Junko telling her that she couldn’t fuck off into a dangerous situation that could get her  _killed_ —

The thought alone sent tremors of anticipation down her body. Not knowing  _precisely_  where she was at all times, not knowing if she was well or  _injured_ , not knowing who her murderer was, should she die at the hand of some malignant thug…!

What if she never came back? What if she wasn’t the same upon returning? What if she lost an eye or a limb or became so damaged emotionally that she could never operate again?

The  _thrill_ of it! Junko couldn’t even  _imagine_  having to face  _any_  of those circumstances. If Mukuro were to breathe her last in some Godforsaken jungle on the other side of the world…what if she died with a breaking heart? Just  _longing_ to see her beloved younger sister again, but being unable to? What if every night she was tormented by thoughts and feelings of a horrible  _loneliness_  that robbed her of sleep and her bearings and caused her to blink back tears she had never before shed?

This situation. This  _situation_! It was the most painful thing Junko had ever dealt with, it was the most beautiful, the most horrible, the most heart-wrenching moment in her life thus far!  _Nothing_  could compare to this!

Junko’s eyes hardened.

So, her sister had managed to give her some despair after all. Her disappointing sister with her ever-stoic face and her ever-stoic voice and her ever-stoic demeanor even when she was listening to Junko shatter someone’s will to tiny pieces that couldn’t be seen with a magnifying glass. Her sister whose ever-present soldier complex failed to cause her to rebel. (What  _despair_ that would be!) Her sister whose mind was ever-focused towards the malleable, the physical, things she could break and dodge and calculate the demise of so long as she could see it.

She fell flat on her face in situations where Junko thrived, but  _oh_ could that conniving little mind of hers work out how to kill someone so  _quickly_ —it was why she had decided to join those mercenaries.

And leave her alone, for a time.

This thought brought Junko back to the present. She regarded her sister with wide eyes that threatened to spill tears at any second. Her heart felt as if it was  _splintering_  and God it  _was_ it really  _was_ because part of it was going out the door soon with that single, plain bag slung over her shoulder and Junko wanted to snatch her back to her side and never let go.

But she didn’t, because the pain was crippling and that was so  _wonderful_.

She hadn’t said anything the entire time and Mukuro was becoming anxious. Her brow furrowed in that very slight way it did when she was attempting to puzzle something out, to find some sort of clue about her twin’s feelings on her face, but it was not to be! Junko only showed what she wished to and not a single indication more.

Grief, despair, she could revel in it and Mukuro’s own unhappiness was just icing on the delectable cake.

“…I have to go,” said her sister with a marvelous slowness that betrayed all her worries. “I can’t afford to be late…”

Her hand tightened on that doorknob and finally,  _finally_ Junko decided it was time to act and act she did. She sprang like a wildcat and pulled her into a hug that was all possession and fury and overwhelming  _sadness_  as her nails dug in like claws into shoulders that had always been stiffer and stronger than her own.

Mukuro wasn’t quick about reciprocating because she  _never_  had been; never had been talented at juggling emotions and dealing with interactions.  The embrace was returned but it was so  _awkward_ because she had never been outwardly sentimental and that just made Junko smile against the crook of her neck; a kiss was planted there, slow and luxurious as if she had all the time in the world. She felt the shiver that shook all the way down her sister’s body.

There were tears and possible hysterics but in the end Junko let her beloved sister go with a final parting whisper that lingered in Mukuro’s ears longer than it ever really should have.

_“Being apart from you is the greatest despair of them all.”_


	2. you're mine

Mukuro had not always been so  _perfectly_ obedient. Like the wolf she aimed to be, her sister dearest had needed to be broken in the same way one tamed a wild animal.

But the process was not something so simple! It couldn’t be  _too_ obvious because she’d have certainly thrown the collar off that Junko was setting  _oh so delicately_ around her neck. However, set a trap too weak, and the wolf would break free if muscles were flexed and strained and  _stretched_ enough.

Oh but the  _challenge_ , the wonderful  _challenge_ —that had been the best part, in the beginning! She had plotted and schemed from such a young age, wanting to enlist her sister’s help, but not if she couldn’t make her  _see_ , make her _understand_  the beauty and terror that waited beyond the darkest end of the deepest misery.

And so, Junko taught her sadness. She taught her  _despair_.

It began with such small things. Missing pencils, shattered figurines…Mukuro had been oh so  _sensitive_ in her younger years, and she had sniffled but tried even then not to cry. But Junko encouraged her, would rub her shoulders and croon about the unfairness of the world when one couldn’t even appreciate the small things without them being snatched away.

It was a start, and from there it spiraled onwards.

Insulting notes penned by ghostly hands, innocent-sounding lectures regarding the evils of humanity spoken only when Mukuro’s mood was already very low, and remarks aimed to whittle away at a self-esteem that was already very fragile—disguised behind a layer of warmth and sugar.

Sometimes, Mukuro would get so frustrated that she would order Junko away.  She  _would_  go, but only after making a big show of being  _hurt_ and feeling _betrayed_ because surely her dearest sister could see that she only wanted to make her feel better? She’d be certain to make her crocodile tears  _just_ audible enough to be heard despite the closed doors, and she could imagine Mukuro’s heart  _twisting_ with guilt.

What she was doing was awful. Terrible. Atrocious!  _Inhumane_! Such tactics were vile and she should be ashamed. She  _was_ ashamed! Junko positively _reveled_ in how monstrous she was being, by introducing her sister to despair. She was the worst person to ever exist and that made her  _glorious_  because how could she do such a thing to her own twin?

They would watch television together.

Sad movies, documentaries on militaries around the world and ancient wars that shook the entire planet. Crime shows about murder and death.

Mukuro—poor, sweet, gentle Mukuro—who had used to cringe away from such things, who had used to insist that the channel be changed, would simply regard it all without any emotion. Junko would lean over to look at her and  _oh_ that  _expression_ was the most breathtaking she had ever seen!

This was _before_  she would be disappointed. This was  _before_  she would accuse her sister of not being what she wanted, because at that point in time all Junko could do was be  _entranced_.

That same night found them in Mukuro’s bedroom, after Junko had insisted that they sit and talk. She had murmured quietly about the cruelness of it all, of the dreadful world and its black heart that was rotten all the way down to its very core. She had spread fingers slowly up her sister’s shoulder and she had _thrilled_ at the fact that—though bemused—she hadn’t pulled away.

Whispers. Mutterings. Junko had, over time, inhaled her sister’s fragile hope and breathed it out as despair.  _She didn’t even know what to do anymore_ , she said.  _What made the world worth living in?_   _What could she possibly do with her life?_  She had turned to her with such uncertain eyes, and in that moment Junko had never been more  _delighted_.

She held her face, fingers splaying across her cheeks and dark hair, staring into eyes that had forgotten hope. Or at least, that was what Junko thought.

_“I know what you should do. Just listen to me.”_

The test was here, the grand moment that would decide the outcome of the situation. Would her patience finally be awarded? No matter what the result, Junko’s entire body was burning with heat and  _God_ she was so  _excited_.

She had resisted. She had argued and snapped and tried to shove her away multiple times, but  _oh_  this time felt so  _different_ than all the others. Junko smiled, and in the darkness, Mukuro couldn’t see it.

She placed a kiss on her twin’s lips, long and slow. And when Mukuro didn’t pull away, she  _laughed_.


	3. observed

A detective needed to  _see_ , and a detective needed to  _know_.

Kirigiri was not certain if she actually understood what she was currently surveying, however.

There had always been something very peculiar about Junko Enoshima. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but everything from her mannerisms to her speech seemed…coy. It was to be expected, surely, from the Super High School Level “Fashionista”? A ploy, an act, possibly even her actual personality…but either way, something crafted to flirt and tease. There was no questioning the effectiveness of such a thing, because hardly anyone seemed to be able to say no to her.

That was what she had told herself, at any rate. Maybe it was harmless.

But still, Kirigiri didn’t trust her, not _really_. Something about her just made a knot twist in the pit of her stomach—the kind of uneasy feeling one had when they were expecting a harsh drop on a rollercoaster that hadn’t turned out as fun as initially thought.

And then there was her sister…Mukuro Ikusaba.

Of the students present, she was probably the only one about as enigmatic as Kirigiri herself. She wasn’t exactly unfriendly or cold so much as she simply didn’t speak. If prompted, her responses were quick and not _too_ awkward—but a far cry from her sister’s dazzling, spotlight-stealing persona. Her expression was absolutely deadpan and the only spark of light that passed through those gray eyes of hers that Kirigiri had ever seen, was caused by two things.

Firstly, Mukuro would sometimes make dry, abrupt remarks regarding conversations that were going on around her. Depending on what was said, laughter was either the response she earned, or else irked glares. (No matter what was uttered, Ludenberg always giggled.) Kirigiri might have actually gotten along with her, if it wasn’t for the next thing, which just sparked suspicion and wariness instead.

Mukuro’s unsmiling, steely stare positively  _flared_ whenever Junko would touch her.

Innocent enough gestures, Kirigiri supposed. Shoulder pats, embraces, occasional threaded fingers that were swung between the pair with gusto. Nevertheless—though others might not have noticed it—Mukuro’s gaze would track her sister with a fierce intensity, as if missing anything would be a terrible crime.

It was very odd, and it didn’t even stop there.

No matter how innocent the statement sounded, if Junko asked aloud for something, Mukuro would stop whatever she was doing and get the task completed. It seemed bizarre considering it could be just the tiniest off-handed remark, and yet Kirigiri could see the edge to Junko’s smile that turned it into a simper whenever a drink was deposited in her hand, or a window opened.

An intense sort of loyalty, perhaps. It didn’t look like kindness so much as just something Mukuro thought she was expected to do. She didn’t ask after it, but Kirigiri had always found their relationship…questionable.

Especially the day when, in the locker rooms—after an outdoor activity—Kirigri had spotted the line of bite marks on Mukuro’s shoulders that were still fringed with the faintest traces of a lipstick she had never seen on anyone else, save one.


	4. jovial

A sharp pounding noise shook the air and Mukuro jumped straight to her feet, nearly tripping over her covers, which wasn’t very graceful of her at all. A knife had already appeared in her hand from somewhere, the long steel blade glinting.

It took her about the span of a heartbeat before she realized that it wasn’t the thud of footsteps, or the clatter of distant gunfire that had stirred her from her sleep. It was just someone knocking at her bedroom door. She cast the aforementioned door a somewhat exasperated look, her eyes trailing from the rattling frame to the digital clock in her plain, plain living quarters.

**8:01 AM**

Not a bad time to be woken up, but Mukuro had been out all night the evening prior on the behalf of the very same person that was probably going to remove the door from its hinges thanks to her impatience. Well, three hours was better than nothing.

A tilt of her head, a sigh, and she pulled the door open, closing one eye against the glare of sunlight coming in from behind the figure standing in the way. “…Good m—“

Her greeting was interrupted by Junko flinging herself at her with enough force to send her staggering back. She was more than capable of regaining her balance—and many other things—but Mukuro allowed the other to knock her off her feet and onto her back. The bed shifted and creaked as Junko lifted herself up and grinned down at her triumphantly.

Something was odd. Junko’s eyes were wide and glittering and very clear. She was obviously very, very pleased about something and Mukuro could only guess what that reason was. If Junko was happy, someone else was _absolutely miserable_ , she knew.

Mukuro couldn’t think anything else because just then, her twin leaned down and gave her a kiss on the nose. The gesture was unusually sweet considering whom it was coming from, and the soldier felt more perplexed by the moment.

“…Junko?”

“I just had the most wonderful thought,” Junko said, ignoring her. A sly smile crossed her face and her eyes narrowed to bright slits. “Something that will bring about the ultimate  _despair_.”

Ah, there it was. That was much more normal behavior. Mukuro just stared up at her questioningly, and her sister abruptly went back to sweetly smiling.

“ _You_ don’t have to worry about that right now. Hmm? My dearest, my darling little soldier girl?”

Junko placed a kiss on her neck and trailed up to her ear. Mukuro would’ve shivered, if she hadn’t been trained not to react to anything, really.

“We’re going to do what you want today,” she breathed, still using her peppy, cutesy voice. A short giggle followed and Mukuro found that single statement difficult to grasp.

“What… _I_ want?”

Pulling back a bit, Junko rolled her eyes, but the gesture seemed affectionate in nature. “Every Sunday for so  _long_ now you’ve always just done what  _I’ve_ said.” She tapped her nose. “You wouldn’t mind a change of pace, would you?”

Mukuro had no answer for her, because she had no idea what exactly she wanted. She was not the type to do things with other people, to actually go to malls or hang out at the beach or even just sit at home and watch movies.

She didn’t object to participating in any of the above, but actually being asked to  _choose_ served as nothing but a vessel for her impartiality.

Her silence didn’t escape Junko’s attention, and her expression shifted to one of unending sadness. She moved off of Mukuro and sat on the edge of the bed with her shoulders hunched. “I-I had just been wanting to spend time with my sister,” she lamented. “Doing something that  _she’d_ enjoy, but maybe I was wrong…Maybe she doesn’t even care…”

Sitting up quickly, she shook her head, inching closer to her. “It’s not that. I just don’t know what to do…” She rubbed at the back of her neck, attempting to placate her. “The only reason I do  _anything_ is for you.”

Junko continued to pout.

“Really. I want to do whatever you want to, you know that.”

Humming to herself as she thought, Junko eventually turned around and smirked widely. “Hah! My poor disappointing sister can’t even think for herself! Even when  _told_ to! I can’t think of anything more pathetic than that.”

Mukuro suppressed a sigh. Of all of her moods, this one was the  _worst_.

Her fashionable sister bounced to her feet. “If you really don’t give a fuck about what we do, we’re going to the mall. Find something  _decent_ to wear, will you? I swear, I would have thought by now that you would have learned something about how to dress from me, but you’re slow to pick that up just like everything else.”

Junko headed to the door, and Mukuro just muttered an agreement as she eyed her wardrobe warily.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long!” Junko trilled, all sugar and sunshine again before vanishing into the hallway.

~***~

Rows and rows of shops, polished white stone floors, gurgling fountains pumping crystal-clear water and the scent of various foods. Those things combined with the oppressive crowds and stark overhead lights formed one of the places on Earth that Mukuro felt the most indifferent towards.

Malls…

Potential hazards everywhere. Unsafe, stupid designs. Security breaches. Outdated alarms and simple camera structures that she was capable of dismantling or fooling herself, and  _loads_  of blind spots. If she had still been in that street gang, she could have robbed the place blind with what she knew now.

She didn’t even feel the need for that, for anything. What she  _did_ feel like she needed was to be within close proximity of her sister, who tended to attract or cause trouble in places that had huge amounts of people.

Junko may have been unable to be as touchy-feely as she liked to be thanks to their location, but that didn’t stop her from doing subtle gestures that made Mukuro’s heart thunder. (None of it showed, of course.) Whatever it was that had brought on this bout of goodwill must have been one  _hell_ of a despair-inducer.

“I didn’t even know you  _owned_ a pair of jeans,” Junko snickered behind one hand. Her eyebrows were arched high with amusement.

“I didn’t either.” Thank whatever gods there may be that she had located something practical and apparently not too unfashionable somewhere amongst her dark clothing.

Knitting their fingers together and lifting up their joined hands, Junko smiled. It carried an edge to it if one knew where to find it. “That’s because you were _gooone_ for so  _long_ and that’s why you need a new wardrobe!”

Mukuro really didn’t think so, but she rolled with it for her sister’s sake. “I suppose a few new things wouldn’t hurt.”

“A few?” She laughed like this was the funniest thing in the world. “We’re getting more than just  _a few_.” Placing a kiss squarely on the tattooed wolf on her hand, Junko let go, instead opting to move behind Mukuro and physically shove her into the nearest store.

It was something oppressively cutesy at first glance, but as Mukuro looked about, she saw a few things that were somewhat grimmer in taste that actually weren’t too bad. Impractical at all times yes, but maybe not for something…casual, she supposed.

Junko ordered her to stay put in their current aisle before traipsing off to find whatever it was she was so desperately after. Mukuro picked at some interesting jewelry. Silver rings and obsidian animal pendants that glittered on their stainless steel chains winked up at her as if trying to impart a secret.

She twirled a cell phone charm that bore the symbol for peace and snorted.

Returning in a flash and carrying a veritable bundle of things in her arms, Junko dumped them into the basket she had given Mukuro earlier. She regarded the bits and ends with a curious tilt of her head.

A bow shaped like a rabbit and a red ribbon that reminded her of blood were placed delicately on top of the folded skirts and shirts. Something about the things nearly sent a chill down her spine.

“Cute, right?” Junko didn’t wait for an answer. “Of  _course_ they are! Exactly what someone like me would wear!”

The phrasing made Mukuro frown but she didn’t address it.

Her hands went to her hips, long painted nails drumming along her waist impatiently. “Now  _please_ tell me you actually found something you like? I can’t believe my own sister really doesn’t give a flying fuck about  _some_ sort of decoration! Some glitz! Some glamor!” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she pulled Mukuro closer by the front of her shirt. Fortunately, the aisle was devoid of any other customers. “You may be a damned  _mercenary_ but there’s no reason why you can’t kill with a bit of style.” Her eyes gleamed like a simpering cat’s.

“I  _did_ find something…”

“Is that so?” She let go, pushing her back a step and taking the two pieces of jewelry from her sister’s loose hold. Junko turned them over, pushing and prodding them with a cold, serious, intellectual look that made her appear much more similar to Mukuro than she likely realized or cared to know. “Wolf jewelry. Why am I not surprised?” She thrust them back into her grasp. “At least you have enough sense to get something that matches your tattoo.”

Junko paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, as Mukuro followed her to the front of the store to pay for their various goods.

“Black looks good on you.” She passed the cashier her credit card without even a glance as her gaze raked her sister. “Dull, grim, dark colors. Just like you!”

“I guess.” Mukuro was watching the cashier, who seemed to be realizing that she was actually looking at Junko Enoshima the world famous model. Her jaw had dropped and she only went back to work after Junko politely cleared her throat.

“Upupu, so flustered! I’m not anyone special!”

“Ah—wow, Enoshima-san…” The cashier’s eyes were sparkling like stars and Mukuro resisted the urge to scoff at the both of them. If anyone could lie through their perfect teeth, it was Junko.

One autograph later, and Mukuro was tailing Junko to the food court.

“Just one look, Mukuro.  _One look_! A single glance at me, and she felt so insecure about herself!” She giggled as if this just tickled her pink. “In a single second, she was doubting  _everything_  about her appearance!”

“As she should. That blouse clearly wasn’t for her.” Sarcasm drenched every word.

Junko looked absolutely delighted by that reply. “Muku-chan! That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day!” Her expression turned as vicious as a shark tasting blood. “That blouse wasn’t the only thing not working for that _bitch_. You can see it. People wear their hearts on their sleeves and it’s just sickening, pathetic,  _begging_  for it…” The threat hung heavily and implied.

“I agree.” She really did.

Mukuro wasn’t hungry but she  _did_  decide to at least drink a soda. She kept the bags by her as Junko talked and flirted and got her own food, her eyes simmering in that way that could mean only one thing—she was examining, peering,  _laughing at_  and tracking her potential new prey.

Her sister. Clearly a little…peculiar to put it as lightly as possible, but nevertheless, a consistent force in her life. Her sister with her endless energy and extraordinary goals. Her sister, who had enough ideas and ambitions for the two of them.

Her sister, the only person she had ever actually felt much of anything for.

Mukuro didn’t really _hate_  anyone. She didn’t even really wish to instill such maddening despair in others, but she absolutely  _lived_  to see Junko during the high points of her ecstasy. She was bright and burned with life in a different way that no one really properly understood. If there really was a reason for Mukuro to be here, it had to be so she could help her sister spread that terribly wonderful fire of hers.

Flopping down across from her, Junko placed her hand on her chin and pouted. There was a tray with assorted Western food on it and Mukuro silently helped herself to a French fry as her sister began to speak.

“How do people do it, Mukuro? How do people live with such ludicrous idealism?”

A pause went by, in which she realized belatedly that she actually wanted a reply. “…They often don’t, for long.” That was her experience, anyway. Idealism was cute. Idealism was a nice concept. It didn’t tend to work in the gritty sort of situations she was often involved in.

“It’s so  _infuriatiiiing_ ,” she whined, her lower lip jutting out as she fluttered her long eyelashes.

Mukuro felt the corner of her lip twitch with amusement and she let out a brief chuckle as she watched her.

Junko looked up at her, a bit of shock in her voice. “Did you just  _laugh_ at me?”

It was difficult to tell if she was cross or not. Mukuro froze with soda halfway up the straw, and apparently her sister found this quite amusing, because she _also_ laughed.

It sounded so carefree and innocent…How bizarre.

Mukuro’s smile grew a bit once more, and Junko let out a squeal, holding her sister’s face and apparently not caring about awkward gestures and angles and who might be watching.

“You should smile more often,” she purred softly. “Such a  _beautiful_  smile to match those cute little freckles.”

Mukuro was very conscious of a few curious glances coming their way, and Junko let her go only after she didn’t answer, sitting back down again with a huff.

Snicker. “It’s all right. I’ll see plenty of it soon.”

“…You will?”

“Oh, yes.” Junko smirked and leaned forward once more, resting her chin on her hands. Her voice dropped to a secretive whisper. “I’ve got something to tell you. Something that will bring about the ultimate despair.”

The soldier said nothing, but she sat up straighter.

“I have a feeling you’ll like this.”

Mukuro frowned slightly. “I will?”

“Oh, Muku-chan!” Junko grinned hugely. “ _Trust_ me. It’s to  _die_ for.”


	5. tattoo

Junko’s fingers were tracing along the borders of the tattoo, and Mukuro forgot how to breathe.

She wasn’t afraid…not _really_ , not _truly_. But she certainly wasn’t  _relaxed_. Her twin sister was silent as the grave, eyes half-closed, circling her finger around and around the silhouette of the wolf’s head—the mark of Fenrir.

Mukuro wasn’t sure what she wanted, or if she even desired  _anything_. She wouldn’t make eye contact or any form of indication whatsoever that she was aware of Mukuro’s presence, despite grazing first her fingertips…and then the edges of her nails…along the inked black mark.

Lying there with her on the bed in Junko’s elaborately decorated room, the soldier could only wait.

Junko’s lips pulled back. It was a smile, though stark and frozen, and she felt her stomach drop. Her sister was clearly angry and hiding it…poorly. She had to be truly  _furious_  or else her current mood just wasn’t of the sort to hide things.

“Mukuro, why did you get this tattoo?”

Unease flickered through Mukuro’s eyes. She swallowed hard, found her voice, answered with: “It was a requirement for members of Fenrir…”

Still no eye contact. “The mercenary group you were in?”

Despite her enormously frightening expression, Mukuro noticed that Junko’s tone was as sweet as ever. “…Yes.” She knew this. So why was she asking?

Junko pursed her lips, a subtle change washing across her face, turning her demeanor stiff and cold. “I see. My mistake.” She dropped her hand and lifted her gaze, staring somewhere over Mukuro’s shoulder and at the wall.

A question was burning inside of her, alighting every muscle in her body and every nerve in her brain. What was she playing at now? “…Junko?”

No reply.

“Junko?” Mukuro repeated, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

She was dangerous now, very dangerous—(more-so than usual)—frozen and still like a hunting cat. A lioness, a tigress, a leopardess. Anything large and mean and unbelievably beautiful even when pinning her prey.

What was a lone wolf before a great jungle cat such as that?

“Junko…”

“The tattoo,” she snapped, and her eyes pierced Mukuro with a force stronger than any blade or bullet there ever was. It petrified her and she couldn’t look away. “What does it mean?”

“I-I told you…it was just a requirement to join Fenrir…all the members—“

“It means you  _belong_  to them!” Junko hissed. And though Mukuro saw her shift, detected the coiling of her muscles that meant she was going to lunge, those wild eyes that had seen a dark horizon no one else could even  _imagine_  held her trapped. Junko shoved her against the wall by her shoulders, practically frothing at the mouth. This personality of hers was really quite wild. “You  _belong_ to that group, don’t you, Mukuro?”

She could push her off and break her neck right now if she wanted to, but she didn’t.

“N-No,” Mukuro forced out, lifting her chin and straining away from that insanely burning glare.

“The mark is still there,” Junko whispered, her breath hot against Mukuro’s ear.

“I  _don’t_  belong to them.” She really didn’t. Despite spending so long with such a group, she still knew where her true devotion lied. It was with the girl pressing so close to her body that she could smell the perfume on her skin and the detergent in her clothes.

The quiet conviction of those words apparently placated her, because the next moment, Junko was wearing a sincere smile. Her eyes were stretched wide in that overly-cutesy fashion. “Oh really? You don’t?” She pulled back and kissed her—quickly, though, before Mukuro had time to return it—batting her eyelashes. “Then who  _do_ you belong to?”

She blinked at her. “You.”

Junko suddenly lunged again, though this time it was just for her hand. Mukuro watched as she pressed in with the tips of her filed nails, smiling, and sketched a shallow, bloody heart over the tattoo of Fenrir. “That’s right,” she giggled merrily. “ _Me_!”

The other girl rested her forehead against Mukuro’s, clasping the bloodied hand between both of hers. She had the nicest smile on her face; it would have been adorable if not for the glint in her eyes. “Did you find it?” She asked so softly that the soldier had to strain to hear. She was basically just mouthing it. “Despair…on the battlefield.”

Mukuro closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “No.”

“No?” Fingers traced up, leaving a faint smear of blood as her grip on her hand vanished. “No satisfaction? Gone for so  _looong_ …” Junko’s head tilted and she smiled almost lazily. “And no despair?”

A slow head shake.

“Of course not. No one else can give it to you, Mukuro.” Junko’s voice had dropped to a low purr as she played with Mukuro’s bangs and fluttered along the line of her jaw. “No one else can give it to you but  _me._ The despair that you’re looking for. You want it as much as me, don’t you?”

“Ah—“

The half-formed word died in her throat when Junko kissed her hard, pulling at her hair to bring her close before leaving long scratches along the soldier’s shoulders and neck. Mukuro wrapped her arms around her because she _needed_ to appease her sister—!

Junko made another of her abrupt movements. A flash, and Mukuro flinched as pain registered—sharp and clear—across the back of her hand.

She looked down and saw that the light heart outline from earlier had been marred with a deep diagonal slash. The red seeped out and obscured a good portion of the wolf’s head.

 _Slowly_ dragging her tongue along the ridge of one pristine painted nail, Junko displayed her cutest smile. “Love…isn’t very despairing, is it?”

Mukuro said nothing, just watched with something akin to uncertain curiosity.

Junko leaned in closer, her pristine white teeth flushed with ghostly traces of scarlet. She placed a hand on her sister’s face and regarded her with the kind of pitying glance one would give a beaten and abused animal. “There’s nothing worse than a broken heart, Mukuro. You’ll give that to me, won’t you?”

“…I…”

That would require…require betraying her sister, wouldn’t it? She couldn’t imagine it, at least not right now. Her hesitation didn’t make her angry, surprisingly. Junko’s smile simply grew.

“I’ll give it to you. Something better,” crooned Junko in what amounted to a sing-song voice. “A despair that even  _I_ will never know.”

How did one respond to that? Mukuro’s eyes darted, tentative. “I don’t understand.”

But Junko just laughed and laughed. “I don’t expect you ever will.”


End file.
